


Flower Crowns and Friendship

by ficsandcatsandficsandcats



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats
Summary: Reader Request:  I would like to read a Jaskier x reader fluff story which is totally non-romantic and all about friendship and where they just chat and gossip and have fun
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Flower Crowns and Friendship

“No, this is all wrong,” Jaskier said, his face crestfallen, “This will never do.”

“Jaskier they’re allowed to run out of cream puffs stop being dramatic and pick something else,” you said, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at your friend as he scanned the pastry display.

“We only get these little meetups once a month, Y/N, there’s a ritual to it,” he argued.

“Oh really?”

“Yes! First, we pick up some cream puffs from our favorite bakery, the birthplace of our friendship and therefore a hallowed ground that shall be visited by devotees for years to come. Second, we get a bottle of cherry wine which is admittedly gross but the same thing we’ve been drinking for years and it is therefore sweetened by nostalgia, and the aforementioned cream puffs. Finally, we go to the grassy hill we always go to and we catch up. Every part is carefully orchestrated and ensures Peak Friendship Meetup,” he ticked the points off on his fingers one by one as the baker waited impatiently for your choices.

“Maybe this time we get to shake it up a bit and get an, oh, I don’t know, éclair?” you suggested. Jaskier huffed and puffed but ultimately acquiesced and you followed the prescribed plan, next stopping to pick up the cherry wine and finally walking to the hill that overlooked the little village below. Jaskier carefully laid down his doublet which served as a picnic blanket and then rested the eclairs on the box they’d come in before popping the cork off the cherry wine, offering you the first drink. It tasted sickeningly sweet followed by a bitter, hot rush of alcohol but you only drank it when Jaskier was in town and it was a welcome taste.

“So tell me everything,” Jaskier began, spreading his body across the grass and propping himself up on his elbow as he accepted the bottle from you and took a swig, his face screwing up at the taste and his lips staining red.

“You’ve been doing things worlds more exciting than I have, don’t make me wait to hear it,” you insist.

“That’s not fair, you are very interesting! Last we spoke there was mention of a certain miller’s son and you’d been working on a book of stories. I need updates!” he argues, taking a bite of an éclair and reluctantly admitting it also tastes great though it’s ‘no cream puff.’

You told him about the very unexciting date with the miller’s son who was no charm and all hands. Jaskier glowered as you told him but you made him promise not to try and go defend her honor or do something foolish. He reluctantly agreed but you made a note to keep close to him just in case. Jaskier had been fighting your battles since you’d met as children. Most people only knew him as the bard who sang songs and ran from monsters but you knew the Jaskier who swung his tiny fists at boys twice his size if they said anything cross about you. Half of the time he did alright by himself, catching them off-guard as he launched his entire frame at them with a totally unexpected ferocity. The other half of the time, you got plenty of practice as the healer you would become in helping clean up his wounds and playing nursemaid.

Jaskier listened intently you as described some of the stories you’d been working on, written here and there on scraps of paper as you waited for patients or steeped herbs. You promised you would write down copies for him by his next visit so he could take them with him and regale people.

By the time he was done pressing you for questions you had finished the eclairs and as much of the cherry wine you could stomach. You’d fallen into a familiar tableau, you sitting in front of Jaskier as he braided your hair. This was the position you took when you were going to talk about things that were a bit harder.

“So the witcher didn’t come with you?” you asked. You felt his fingers stall their progress, just a beat but one you caught.

“Ah, no, Geralt and I are no longer traveling together,” he said. You’d suspected the so-called Butcher of Blavekin would be bad news but you were still hurt for your friend.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“There isn’t much to say really,” he said, and he told you the story of that final day he’d traveled with Geralt. You bit your tongue a few times, not wanting to interrupt his story and knowing you’d have a chance to comment when he was done.

“So I said ‘see you around Geralt’ and turned away. And that was the last time I saw him. I hear things now and then. And it’s hard to sing Toss A Coin now but it still gets the biggest reaction. The show must go on and all of that,” his voice is so very sad and all you want is to hunt this fabled Geralt of Rivia down and pummel him with every ounce of anger you possess. It would probably barely register for him but it might help you feel less helpless. Jaskier finishes your hair and you turn to face him, clasping his hands in yours.

“You know that he’s wrong don’t you? You mean that he’s stupid and an arse and that you’re a lovely travel companion and person and he was lucky to have you for as long as he did,” you say fervently. He smiles at you but he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you remember that time I asked Kennet Yarlsberg to be my first boyfriend and he told me I was an ugly toad?” you ask.

“Ah, yes, I believe that’s when I got the scar on my back,” Jaskier says.

“Yes, but you remember how even though you fought him and told me a thousand times he was stupid and wrong, I still had to get there on my own? And eventually I saw him for what he truly was and realized I was lucky that he’d rejected me?”

He nods, remembering all too well how hard it had been to watch you pine and try and hide yourself from the world.

“I know that I can sit here and tell you til I’m blue in the face about all of the wonderful qualities you possess and at the end of the day you’d still be wondering why Geralt doesn’t see them too. So I’m not going to do that. Much more than I already have. But I need you to remember that second half of my story. I’m fine, and Kennet sells eels at the market. Maybe Geralt will one day pull his head out and apologize, maybe he won’t, but at the end of the day he’s just an eel seller and you’re Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, beloved bard and my best friend.”

You’re both a little teary by the time you reach the end of your speech and he pulls you into a tight hug, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck as you both battle to try and squeeze the other the hardest. When he pulls back away he laughs and wipes at his eyes.

“Now,” he says, “The final part. The most important part perhaps.”

You spend the next half hour picking daisies and compete to see who can make the grandest crown, Jaskier always winning but also always swapping with you. When you go home that night you hang it up to add to the collection of flower crowns you’ve collected since he began adventuring. The farewells are always hard and you know one day you’ll finally take him up on his offer to have you join him begging off out of duty to your family and fear of the unknown, but one day you will go and have grand stories of your own to tell. Until then you have the faded flower crowns and the bittersweet taste of cherry wine to tide you over until you see your friend again.


End file.
